Bryan Ferry might be dismissed these days as an aristo-following, foxhunting-sympathetic irrelevance, but it's almost impossible to overstate just how wonderful a pop star he was at his peak. Before he settled into comfortable, lounge-suited middle age there was something wonderful, almost unsettling, about his image, all that leopardskin and makeup twinned with craggy, masculine good looks.

And then there are the songs. The Thrill of It All remains the most celebrated number on Country Life, Roxy Music's 1974 masterpiece – and has perhaps the most thrilling opening 45 seconds in pop – but for me the heart of the album is A Really Good Time.

As the gorgeous piano introduction builds into a swooning, string-heavy melody, Ferry's trademark over-enunciated, almost mocking vocals send me to a glamorous, if faintly seedy, early 70s London I never knew.

The half-suggested tale of a former innocent at large in this world is cynical, almost menacing – "All your troubles come from yourself/ Nobody hurts you, they don't care/ Just as long as you show them a really good time" – and deeply sad: "You know I don't talk much, except to myself/ 'Cause I've not much to say, and there's nobody else/ Who's ready and willing and able to know me, I guess."

I had the notion it might be Ferry's tribute to the then-teenage Jerry Hall – "There's a girl, I used to know/ Her face is her fortune, she's got a heart of gold" – but the magic that is Wikipedia informs me the pair didn't meet until 1975, so apparently not. Ah well.